Flash fiction challenge for August.
500-800 words
names - a man and a woman, him-Zephram, her-Madeline
mood - impatient
location - a bar
Late.
The bar was old, worn down by year after year of neglect. It was once an upmarket watering hole with a fine view over the shore and the waters beyond. But time had not been kind. The wood was age blackened and cracked, paint long since flaked away. The once polished rails around the bar were now scuffed and worn, dull metal, uncared for.
The carpet around the booths was worn and ragged. Slightly damp underfoot, tugging at any shoe or boot that trod on it and with the aroma of stale beer and vomit.
The few customers were much like the bar, old, worn out, ignored and on their last legs.
The woman that strode into the bar was no regular here. Her heals clicked loudly on the cracked tiles before the bar, long long legs leading to a simple black dress, severe, Spartan but the perfect black contract with the almost glowing skin on her bare arms, shoulders and neck.
Her hair, a rich russet, framed a strong face, not a girlish beauty but beautiful none the less.
She glanced around with distain and perhaps a touch of concern then turned to glare at the man who followed her in.
Of average height he was almost a head shorter than the woman in her heals, he was older, wrinkles around his eyes marked his years as did the touch of salt in his trimmed beard and the flashes of white at his temples.
The man held a mobile in his hand and glanced at it. “No signal, no bars.” He looked at the barkeep. “Phone?”
The barkeep jerked his head across the room to an old style payphone beside the sign pointing to the toilets.
The besuited man almost rushed to the phone and quickly fed it coins, dialled a number.
Seconds passed, he spoke quietly. Explaining a breakdown, a car not working, a long walk, a rundown bar on the waterfront. Then he hung up and turned to the woman. “He’s coming, he will bring some, hold it together Madeline.”
The woman glared, anger flashing in her brown eyes. “I only agreed to come out tonight because of the promise he would have what I need. You know what will happen if, if I don’t get it, don’t get another dose.”
The man answered. “Stay calm, hold it together. He will be here, we have time. Maybe a drink.”
The woman glanced at the barkeep and at the rack of half empty bottles behind him. “Whiskey.”
The barman poured, she drunk the shot in a single gulp. “Another.”
Outside the street lights began to come on, the twilight was fading to darkness, the sun long since down.
Madeline stared at the gathering dark. “Call him again Zephram, NOW!”
Zephram walked to the payphone and again fed it coins. He listened for half a minute. “It’s just ringing, stay calm Madeline, he is coming as fast as he can.”
The woman swallowed the second whiskey in a single gulp and gestured for another. The barman hesitated then poured a measure which she drunk straight away. Three whiskeys were not too much even for a woman but the tremble in her hands, the changes in her voice. He debated saying no then looked into her deep brown eyes and poured yet another.
“Call him again Zephram, keep calling him. He has to get here, I need it now. NOW!” Her voice had risen and become deeper, a man’s growl rather than a woman’s scream.
The man called Zephran tried the payphone again but was out of change. He tried his mobile, walked across the bar then stopped by the window as a single bar flickered into life on the screen.
Quickly he placed the call, speed dial, a friend or maybe something else.
Looking out through the window he could see the waves turn to silver and the froth along the shore glow white. Shadows in the bar grew sharper and darker.
“Where are you, how long, do you have the serum?” His voice had the sound of desperation now.
He shouted the answer over his shoulder, “He’s in the street now, just a few minutes.”
Behind him he heard a gasp from the barman. The gentle clatter of high heels kicked across the tiles. A low growl, a woman’s voice but deep and in pain. Cracking and popping as bone and sinew stretched and changed. The ripping of cloth.
The barman calling on Jesus for salvation. The remaining few customers knocking over chairs and tables as they shouted and tried to flee.
A deep grow. No longer a woman, no longer human. A million years of primal fear of the darkness froze every monkey in the bar.
The full moon had risen.
It was too Late!
500-800 words
names - a man and a woman, him-Zephram, her-Madeline
mood - impatient
location - a bar
Late.
The bar was old, worn down by year after year of neglect. It was once an upmarket watering hole with a fine view over the shore and the waters beyond. But time had not been kind. The wood was age blackened and cracked, paint long since flaked away. The once polished rails around the bar were now scuffed and worn, dull metal, uncared for.
The carpet around the booths was worn and ragged. Slightly damp underfoot, tugging at any shoe or boot that trod on it and with the aroma of stale beer and vomit.
The few customers were much like the bar, old, worn out, ignored and on their last legs.
The woman that strode into the bar was no regular here. Her heals clicked loudly on the cracked tiles before the bar, long long legs leading to a simple black dress, severe, Spartan but the perfect black contract with the almost glowing skin on her bare arms, shoulders and neck.
Her hair, a rich russet, framed a strong face, not a girlish beauty but beautiful none the less.
She glanced around with distain and perhaps a touch of concern then turned to glare at the man who followed her in.
Of average height he was almost a head shorter than the woman in her heals, he was older, wrinkles around his eyes marked his years as did the touch of salt in his trimmed beard and the flashes of white at his temples.
The man held a mobile in his hand and glanced at it. “No signal, no bars.” He looked at the barkeep. “Phone?”
The barkeep jerked his head across the room to an old style payphone beside the sign pointing to the toilets.
The besuited man almost rushed to the phone and quickly fed it coins, dialled a number.
Seconds passed, he spoke quietly. Explaining a breakdown, a car not working, a long walk, a rundown bar on the waterfront. Then he hung up and turned to the woman. “He’s coming, he will bring some, hold it together Madeline.”
The woman glared, anger flashing in her brown eyes. “I only agreed to come out tonight because of the promise he would have what I need. You know what will happen if, if I don’t get it, don’t get another dose.”
The man answered. “Stay calm, hold it together. He will be here, we have time. Maybe a drink.”
The woman glanced at the barkeep and at the rack of half empty bottles behind him. “Whiskey.”
The barman poured, she drunk the shot in a single gulp. “Another.”
Outside the street lights began to come on, the twilight was fading to darkness, the sun long since down.
Madeline stared at the gathering dark. “Call him again Zephram, NOW!”
Zephram walked to the payphone and again fed it coins. He listened for half a minute. “It’s just ringing, stay calm Madeline, he is coming as fast as he can.”
The woman swallowed the second whiskey in a single gulp and gestured for another. The barman hesitated then poured a measure which she drunk straight away. Three whiskeys were not too much even for a woman but the tremble in her hands, the changes in her voice. He debated saying no then looked into her deep brown eyes and poured yet another.
“Call him again Zephram, keep calling him. He has to get here, I need it now. NOW!” Her voice had risen and become deeper, a man’s growl rather than a woman’s scream.
The man called Zephran tried the payphone again but was out of change. He tried his mobile, walked across the bar then stopped by the window as a single bar flickered into life on the screen.
Quickly he placed the call, speed dial, a friend or maybe something else.
Looking out through the window he could see the waves turn to silver and the froth along the shore glow white. Shadows in the bar grew sharper and darker.
“Where are you, how long, do you have the serum?” His voice had the sound of desperation now.
He shouted the answer over his shoulder, “He’s in the street now, just a few minutes.”
Behind him he heard a gasp from the barman. The gentle clatter of high heels kicked across the tiles. A low growl, a woman’s voice but deep and in pain. Cracking and popping as bone and sinew stretched and changed. The ripping of cloth.
The barman calling on Jesus for salvation. The remaining few customers knocking over chairs and tables as they shouted and tried to flee.
A deep grow. No longer a woman, no longer human. A million years of primal fear of the darkness froze every monkey in the bar.
The full moon had risen.
It was too Late!